


Laundry Day

by PBJellie



Series: South Park Kink Meme Requests [8]
Category: South Park
Genre: Alpha Tweek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Never Met, Domestic Fluff, Laundry, Laundry Kink, M/M, Masturbation, Omega Craig, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 16:44:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14622897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PBJellie/pseuds/PBJellie
Summary: Craig goes to great lengths to obtain a shirt from his crush.Written for the South Park Kink Meme





	Laundry Day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the request 
> 
> Listen, listen, okay, we all know craig has a Thing for laundry. I just need like. Him stealing Tweek’s shirt or something and nuzzling it when he jacks off later okay??? Okay. Bonus points if tweek notices the missing shirt and/or he uses a vibe

It was a simple mission. Sneak into the Alpha laundry room, nick a shirt from the boy he liked, and run across campus to his dorm room with it. 

“Act like you belong here,” he whispered under his breath, though he so clearly did not belong. All of the Alphas at school were, at minimum a good three inches taller than him, thicker around the middle, and broad chested. He didn’t fit any of those descriptors. 

But Tweek Tweak didn’t, either. 

And Tweek was the only one in the room.

He watched, from behind a dryer, as Tweek methodically sorted through his laundry, using three washers, one for whites, one for brights, and one for darks. Somehow, Craig didn’t picture him as a guy who had his ducks in a row enough to care about lights and darks. He figured him a dump and run kind of guy. 

It’d have been easier to take a shirt unnoticed if he was, but Craig liked a challenge. Especially one with a nice reward at the end. The green t shirt Tweek wore yesterday, as he ran across campus to his two o’clock class, Bio, was top notch, as far as rewards went. 

As long as he got it before the laundry was actually started. No sense in getting a scentless shirt, though maybe it’d be nice to smell his detergent 

Craig straightened up from behind the dryer, standing as tall as he could, and walked towards Tweek, as if he was pulled by a string from his chest. He stood at the closest empty washer, casually looking down into the basket. Tweek was fumbling with the presets on the washer as he dug around for the shirt.

It was going so well, until Tweek noticed him pulling laundry out of his basket.

“Is that my shirt?” Tweek asked, puffing his chest out as he looked down at Craig. “Did you steal my shirt, man?” 

“No,” he said, shoving the green shirt in question behind his back. 

It was indeed Tweek's shirt. He had plenty of shirts. He wouldn't miss this one. 

He'd probably even return it, once the smell wore off. He moved his thumbs across the fabric, letting it pull between his fingers. Yeah, maybe he'd return it. 

Tweek had plenty of shirts, though. One missing would be no big loss. 

“Omegas, nnn,” his head tilted to the side and his left eye closed, “they're not supposed to be in here, man. Not allowed.” 

“Oh,” he said, uninterested. He was a sophomore in Home Studies, which was a basically glorified house husband position. Everyone knew Omegas went to college to find mates. That was the whole goal of integrating colleges. The point of making it tuition free for Omegas. 

It's not like he learned anything anyway. 

“So go?”

“Yeah, my bad,” he reached out to lean against the washer, one hand holding the shirt behind his back. The heel of his hand never quite made contact with washer, causing him to tumble backwards. He slid onto his ass, the shirt in question half concealed by his body. 

“That’s my shirt,” Tweek said, matter of factly, as he held a hand out to help Craig up. “What’s your name? Are you, nnngh, stalking me? I can’t afford to have a stalker right now, I have a test in chemistry and I can’t do it, man. I just can’t. So if you’re stalking me, you gotta, nnn, you gotta tell whoever is having you do it to reschedule. Next week is Calculus and oh God, there’s no good time to reschedule. You can’t be stalking me. No one should be stalking me, man.” 

“Hey, calm down,” Craig said, letting the shirt rest behind his feet as he pulled himself up with Tweek’s hand. “I’m Craig.” 

“Do stalkers not have last names?” He asked, starting to laugh, and then dissolving back into uneven breaths. “What if they don’t? I didn’t even think Omegas could have jobs in espionage. That’s sexist of me. Are you stalking me to get dirt on me? You already learned I’m apparently a bigot, man! It’s too much pressure! Way too much pressure!” 

Before Tweek could start screaming any louder, Craig felt himself leaning into his touch, pressing himself flush against his chest, until Tweek’s shoulder was tucked under his chin. He stood there, dumbstruck by the instinctive decision to comfort his crush.

Tweek wasn’t complaining though, in fact, he wasn’t saying anything. His breathing evened into a steady pattern after a few frantic moments. They stood together a few more seconds than were necessarily, two warm bodies against each other.

“Uh,” Craig interrupted the silence, scampering backwards, picking up the shirt as he broke into a sprint towards the door. “See you later,” he called out like an idiot as he reached for the nob. “Tucker, Craig Tucker,” he added before the door swung shut. 

He ran home, all the way across campus, on the fumes of adrenaline from the encounter. Sure, he’d fantasized about touching Tweek, and more so, Tweek touching him, but he always sort of doubted it’d ever happen. He certainly didn’t think their first contact would be chest to chest as Tweek rambled on and on. Maybe a graze of hands, or footsie under the table, or hell, even a shoulder bump, but not a jump off the deep end straight into full frontal contact. 

He unlocked the dorm entrance, scanning a keycard to get into the secure building. The green shirt was still in his grasp, unwashed. He tore through the halls, taking the stairs two at a time, until he got to the third floor. With muscle memory he got into his room. Once the door was open, he flopped onto his bed with the shirt, his prize, close to his nose. It smelled like sweat, and coffee, but mostly the half sweet smell of another human. 

It was nice, Craig decided, and almost immediately he found his free hand wandering south. He fumbled with the buttons on his jeans, before deciding to just drop the shirt onto his face, at least until his pants were off. Two hands made the task much easier, and his pants were thrown across the room, the metal button hitting the door with a clang. 

His hands toyed with the waistband of his boxers as he sniffed the shirt. He imagined a life with that smell, with Tweek. Maybe they’d watch TV together and Tweek would let Craig brush out his hair as a show played in the background. Craig knew he could get it styled, with a little effort. It didn’t look like Tweek used anything, currently. He smelled the shirt again, it didn’t smell like he used hair products. Surely, they’d come up on a shirt. 

He thought about how Tweek had relaxed at physical contact, his contact, in particular. He moaned as his fingers grazed his penis, dancing over it, not quite ready to masturbate in earnest. 

That was the point of the shirt though, to get off to an Alpha, the one he liked. If he just wanted an Alpha he could use his stipend to call into that hotline, and be sent a pair of random used underwear. 

He wasn’t desperate though, no. He grabbed his dick, moving rhythmically now. Slowly. and with his hand loose enough that he occasionally lost contact with the underside of his dick. He tightened up a bit, thinking about Tweek as he flipped onto his stomach, knees bent. 

He nuzzled into the shirt as he masturbated, the scent overpowering him as he bucked into his own hand. He wondered how Tweek liked his steaks, and if they’d have the same taste in music as his thumb swiped over the head of his penis. 

He imagined them showering together, Craig racking his fingers down Tweek’s back. Then, Craig imagined the same scenario, but in bed. He imagined Tweek’s weight on top of him, pushing in slowly, then quickly as Craig squealed into the pillow, their pillow. 

He quickened his pace, frantically thrusting until he spilled onto the bed beneath him, sweaty and exhausted. He laid down on the bed, in short order, careful to avoid the spot of cum on the sheets. The shirt laid close to his face on the pillow.

From across the room, the phone in his jean pocket buzzed. Lazily, he went to grab it, not bothering to redress. He dug around for a few seconds, before retrieving the phone.

The screen read, “Tweek Tweak has sent you a friend request.” Craig, once again, collapsed onto his bed, shirt snug against his chest.


End file.
